


Good Girl

by CallaCurieSemi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dysphoria, Trans Junkrat, Trans Male Character, mentions of parental death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaCurieSemi/pseuds/CallaCurieSemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When mum called her a good girl, she would beam up – face bright like the sunlight that hit the earth. She got called a good girl for lots of things: for sticking to her mum's side, for remembering important things, for finding scrap or seeds or bullets in too-low too-dark too-small places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Its in the tags but just to make sure nobody misses it: this fic contains some talk about dysphoria, and there is some misgendering (not on purpose, but if it will bother you be aware that it happens).

 When mum called her a good girl, she would beam up – face bright like the sunlight that hit the earth. She got called a good girl for lots of things: for sticking to her mum's side, for remembering important things, for finding scrap or seeds or bullets in too-low too-dark too-small places. Once they’d found a broken bot lying in the sun, so worthless not even crows and dingoes wanted it, and she’d kicked it hard and parroted back the “fuck the omnics” she’d heard from so many people. Her mum laughed - a deep laugh that made her feel warm inside – and ruffled her hair. “Good girl,” she’d said. “Fuck the omnics.” She laughed back up at her mum.

She wasn’t happy they were moving, but mum said they had too. Said it wasn’t good to be alone in the outback. Said it wasn’t good to be a target. Said that no matter how bad this place was, better to be somewhere with a chance at water, a chance at food, than to watch her baby –

Said she’d always keep her safe.

Said she’d always keep her little girl safe.

* * *

 

She remembered Before Junkertown, but not much. Before Junkertown had lots and lots of colors, colors blue like the sky and colors green like the garden and colors she hadn’t seen in a long long time. Most things in Junkertown were red and yellow and orange – warm like the sunlight that fed the plants growing outside.

She knew mum was struggling with the garden. If they had good harvests, mum said, they would use what they didn’t need to eat to trade. They hadn’t done a lot of trading yet. Even if things weren’t going so well, she liked to sit in the garden and read, nice and safe where mum could see her. She couldn’t get mum to tell her all the words she didn’t know – mum was busy, and there were a whole lot of words she didn’t know. But there were a few things she got to learn about.

“Mum, what are crown jewels?” she said, staring at the messy pages.

“Crown jewels?” her mother repeated, standing from the dirt and brushing herself off. “Fancy shit the Brits keep around to show off that they’re better than everyone else.”

“Oh.” She paused, absorbing this, then asked, “what do jewels look like?”

Her mother had turned to her; her hands on her hips, her blonde hair in its loose bun, her smile gentle. “Well, jewels come in all kinds of different colors, and they sparkle – like clean water, or an explosion that’s going off all the time.”

“Woah!” she said as her mother reached down to pick her up. “D’you think I’ll ever get to see the crown jewels?”

Mum rolled her eyes and lifted her up. “Prob’ly not – they keep ‘em locked up where only the _right_ people can see ‘em.”

She frowned as she clung to her mother’s shirt. “That’s bullshit!” Her mother smiled.

“That’s right, baby – bullshit. Good girl.”

* * *

 

It was much more fun watching mum build stuff than it was to watch her garden.

Mum had been a mechanic; she still was, technically, but it was different now. Lots of things were different now. But mum got good deals for fixing up junkers’ cars, for fixing up junkers’ bikes, for fixing up junkers’ mechanical parts. She loved to watch mum work, and loved it when mum explained everything to her. Loved learning how to take bits and pieces and turn it into something that moved.

Of course, it was also fun taking something that moved and turning it into bits and pieces.

Her mum knew it was no use keeping her away, knew she was better off learning to defend herself even if it was in the loudest, brightest way possible. Sure, a knife could kill, but an explosion blew up like sunlight over the horizon in the morning. They practiced, together – mum knew how to make the little explosions in cars work, and helped her make big explosions out in the dust. She found old textbooks full of names of chemicals, learned how to put them together in ways that were big and bright and beautiful.

After a good one, mum would put her hand on her shoulder and would yell to get through the ringing in their ears, “good girl.”

After the one that tore off her right arm, she said it to calm her down as she worked on the prosthetic, worked on getting it just right. “It’s going to be alright,” she would coo, even when her voice was hoarse. “Just rest. There’s a good girl. Mummy’s always gonna keep you safe.”

* * *

 

Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what.

When mum called her “good girl” at home, she tensed.

When mum called her it in public, she felt her face go hot like the sunlight that was passing through the window.

Mum had looked worried when she said she just wanted to be alone, but didn’t stop her. There were times mum wanted to be alone too.

She was lying in bed, holding the arm mum’d made her up in front of her. She didn’t know why, but some days it was the only part of her body she could stand looking at. The thick metal and slender fingers felt right in a way lots of things felt wrong lately. The worst part was how iffy the whole damn thing was. Some days she woke up already feeling like the world might as well just go and end again, and some days she felt just fucking perfect until she got spoken to – until “there’s a good girl” and “excuse me little lady” and “what a fine young woman-”

Oh well. Wasn’t the first time her head decided to be at odds with her. She pushed herself up, everything but her right arm feeling numb and disconnected. Like she was just bits and pieces, but she was still moving. She’d better go back out there before mum got worried.

Mum looked up from the table. “There you are! Oh, look how old you’ve gotten, my little girl.”

She shrugged, shoulders heavy. “’M not that old, mum.”

* * *

 

She tried out some new things.

Well, she’d been trying out some new things since she was about fourteen, but these ones didn’t involve the other kids in Junkertown. Not yet, at least.

She’d started wrapping strips of cloth around her chest, trying to flatten it. She’d tried using bandages, but they would cut into her skin, burnt it like the sunlight burnt tan lines into her, kept her from breathing proper. She didn’t like it. She’d seen what happened to junkers that couldn’t breathe proper. She tried wearing one shirt a size too small with another a size too big over it, and that worked, sort of. Made it into a bump she could tolerate most days, especially if she didn’t think about it. She’d looked at herself in the shiny metal of a bike she was passing by the day she figured that one out, giggling and smirking. Mum’d always called her a clever –

Mum’d always called her clever.

She tried that next.

He tried that next.

Mum’d always called him a clever boy.

But she hadn’t.

But she _hadn’t._

He gagged a little on nothing and kicked at the dirt as he walked back home. Tossed his bag full of scrap and supplies and bottled water on the table as he heard his mum’s door open.

“You got everything?” she asked. He nodded. “There’s a good girl.”

* * *

 

She wasn’t coming back.

Not _she_ she, but she wasn’t either.

Mum. Mum wasn’t coming back.

It happens sometimes, you know. To junkers.

They go on runs and they don’t come back.

Get eaten out there.

Get eaten up like everything else.

Eaten by animals and radiation and bullets and god knows what else.

It happens.

It happened.

It happened.

He’d gotten harder after that. Hard like the water, hard like the soil, hard like the sunlight that bore down on everything.

Fuck her. He didn’t need her anyways.

 _Not her fault,_ he said to himself. _We never told her._

_She should’ve known, she’s our mum, she’s our mum, she should have known –_

It didn’t matter.  She was gone. He forced himself to focus. Focused on the metal of his hand. Focused on the way his foot tapped against the wood floors of the house. It was so small, but it felt so big without her. Fuck. He hit his fist against the wall.

Whatever. Whatever. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that she never got to see him in the new tops he’d found while scavenging that finally got his chest flat like he’d been trying. He didn’t care that she never got to hear her son’s name (jamisonsjamisonjamison).

He didn’t care that the last thing she’d ever said to him was “remember – be a good girl while I’m gone.”

He laughed to himself, already usually loud but practically deafening in the silent house. “Guess I wan’t such a good girl after all, huh mum?” He sighed. It didn’t matter. She was gone. He figured eventually he’d have to find somebody else to stick with him.

It wasn’t good to be alone in the outback. It wasn’t good to be a target.


End file.
